


I CAN'T MAKE YOU LOVE ME

by strangethetimes



Category: IT (2017), IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bad Jokes, Bisexual Richie Tozier, Canon Compliant, Fluff, For the most part, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, M/M, Mutual Pining, One Shot, Post-Canon, Post-Pennywise (IT), Reddie, Shakespeare Quotations, Slow Burn, Time Skips, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-09-27 12:43:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20407945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangethetimes/pseuds/strangethetimes
Summary: Five times Eddie asks for a distraction and the one time he doesn’t.loosely inspired by I Can’t Make You Love Me covered by Dave Thomas.





	I CAN'T MAKE YOU LOVE ME

**Author's Note:**

> There are time gaps between parts, anywhere from a couple months to a year.  
I hope y'all love it.

**Ⅰ**

Eddie’s stares at the off-white phone, daring himself to walk away and daring himself to dial Richie’s number — just to do _ something, _anything at all. He’s been standing there for what feels like an hour, trying to find the courage for one of the options in his head. If he doesn’t call, he’s left alone with the memories of Neibolt that plagued the dreams he woke up from. If he does call, he could tear much needed sleep away from Richie, who always seems to be awake. He can’t decide which would make him feel worse. His hand reaches for the phone and he realizes he’s already figured it out.

The dial tone is ongoing and painful. Each blaring ring makes him count the things from his nightmares. _ Beverly floating mid-air. _ She hasn’t talked to any of them since she moved to Portland. _ Mike screaming while he fought Henry Bowers. _ He doesn’t visit them in town, they only see him when they go to the farm. _Stan__ crying, face covered in blood and terror in his eyes. _ He hardly talks, always staring off into space until someone brings him back. _ Bill clutching the raincoat, broken in a way he’s never seen. _ It’s been a year since Georgie died. Things are hardly better for him, more guilty and grief-stricken than ever. _ Ben’s stomach being torn open by It’s claws. _He hasn’t spoken to them since he moved either. His mom hauled him off to Nebraska for high school.

“Hey.” Richie sounds caffeinated and alert, not surprising. He never runs out of energy, maybe that’s why he’s always awake, he doesn’t need the same amount of sleep as everyone else. “Are you alright?” He knows the answer already. Eddie rarely calls this late, only when he needs help — whether in the form of distractions or advice. Eddie holds his breath, curling the phone cord around his finger and trying not to break at the sound of his best friend’s voice. “Nightmares again?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll be at your window in a few.” The call ends, the dial tone mocking Eddie until he puts the phone back on the hook and walks upstairs. Richie hasn’t snuck over in years, but they haven’t forgotten the routine for it. Towels stuffed under the door to muffle the sounds and the smallest lamp lit to avoid darkness while still giving the illusion of it. The same pattern of tapping to know who it is and climbing back out, waiting by the bottom of the tree, in case Eddie’s mother hears something and checks on him; if the window opens again, it’s safe for him to come back inside. When Richie’s finally there, kneeling on the tree branch close enough to Eddie’s window to jump from, they sit on the floor; sitting against the bed and staring at the ceiling with plastic stars that don’t glow in the dark anymore.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Richie asks, glancing at Eddie from the corner of his eyes. Sometimes he needs to get it off his chest. Sometimes he needs to run from it. No matter what it is, Richie’s there. He knows what it’s like.

“No.” Eddie mumbles, laying his head on Richie’s shoulder. He can just barely hear his heartbeat. “Tell me about what life’s gonna be like when we’re out of here.” The thought of leaving is the only thing that keeps him sane while he’s stuck in Derry. It used to be the Losers, but they’re broken and who knows if they’ll ever heal. He misses them. He misses how they used to be. Thoughts cease when Richie puts a hand on Eddie’s cheek, tracing patterns into his skin of sunflowers and hearts.

“One day, I’m going to get a job. It’ll be shitty and annoying, but they’ll pay me. I’ll stash every paycheck and save until I have enough for a car.” A bright red Mustang with leather seats and a vanity plate that says TRSHMTH. He’s told everyone who’ll listen about his dream car. “After I have a car, I’ll save even more — enough for three months of rent for some crappy apartment with some extra — and we’ll get to leave.” This is the best part, where they keep adding details until there’s nothing unplanned.

“We’ll take everything we can fit.” Eddie says, “Furniture, clothes, maybe Stan.” He glances at Richie for his reaction, but finds none. They both know this is their dream.

“The sun will still be far from rising when we leave, no goodbyes to anybody but the rest of the Losers. By the time our parents wake up, we’ll be too far away for them to catch and too old for the police to care.” Richie’s eyelids are getting heavier, threatening to close. Feeling Eddie shift gives him a small jolt. He moves his hand back to his side, Eddie pulls it back to his cheek and the patterns start again. “I’d make the best playlists for the ride and you’d keep me on track, making sure I don’t miss any important exits and reminding me when we need gas or food. I’d be too excited to think about things like that.” Images of Eddie flicker in Richie’s head, his eyes hidden behind sunglasses and his smile hidden behind a map. Curses flying and jokes spewing, it’d be impossible to have a bad road trip with him.

“We’d stop at horrible motels when we get too tired to drive.”

“_As if _ I’d let you drive my car, Kaspbrak.” Richie nudges him and gets a flick on the nose in response. “But we _ would _ stop at horrible motels. I’m talking the absolute worst that drive-by states have to offer — dirty and creepy to the point where you might want to turn back.”

“But I wouldn’t and you’d be proud of me.”

“No you wouldn’t. And yes I would.” He smiles. This time the images come to Eddie, in glimpses he could catch in the mornings at those motels. The steam from hot showers on dingy mirrors, stale complementary pastries stuffed into a backpack for later, and sunlight dancing on Richie’s face from the practically sheer curtains. “We’d get back on the road in the morning and keep repeating it until we got where we wanted to go.” Richie looks to Eddie, “Where do we want to go this time?”

“Seattle.” He whispers, noticing the patterns on his cheeks starting to slow. _ He’s tired, _Eddie thinks. _ When was the last time he slept? _

“Seattle it is.” Richie keeps fighting to stay awake, just to finish the plans. “We’d get a small ass apartment and work ourselves to the bone. I’d get a job at a record store and you’d get a job at some coffee shop. We’d work our way through college, maybe U of W. I’d major in filmmaking or writing and you’d—"

“Business.” Eddie interrupts, “I’d get an MBA and start my own business.” More images come to them both. Walking down cobblestone streets with warm cups of coffee and throwing windows open when it’s too hot inside their cramped apartment, the life would be _ theirs. _No one else’s. Not a single soul to tell them no.

“I’ll be a comedian or a director.” Richie’s words start to slur and Eddie knows he’ll be asleep in a moment. “Maybe we’ll buy a house. I might finally…” The words stop and the snoring starts. His hand falls onto his lap but Eddie doesn’t move, he doesn’t dare. He sits with him until the sun comes up, when light dances on his freckled face just like in his daydreams about the motels and he has to force himself to wake him up. Richie smiles when he sees him, stretching his limbs and standing up slowly. He slips out the window when they think they hear noise from Eddie’s mother’s room.

“Thanks for coming, Rich.” Eddie hands him a jacket, the cold air biting at their skin. Richie puts it on like it’s a saving grace in spite of leaving. It sort of is.

“There’s nothing in the world I wouldn’t do for ya, Eds.” Then, he climbs back down the tree and he’s gone.

**Ⅱ**

Eddie’s lungs beg for air, gasping for it, when he wakes up. A heavy boot is stomping on his chest, preventing every breath he tries to take. Hands that host earthquakes, hair on the back of his neck raised, goosebumps down his arms. When he finally takes in air, it doesn’t feel like enough. He thinks there might be tears in his eyes. He remembers the dream, not quite sure if it’s good or bad one until it comes back to him. Blood covered teeth, _ so much _ blood. Beverly didn’t make it in time, _It_ got there first. Richie screamed. He cried and cursed and screamed, but nothing he did made a difference. He still died. He still got his stomach torn open. _It_ stalked toward him with Richie’s blood on its face, he was sure he’d die too. He did, still hearing the echo of Richie’s cries and staring at his dead body while _It_ consumed him. _ Not a good one, _ he thinks_. _ He gets chills at the thought. His glassy eyes stumble upon the note he found stuffed into his jacket pocket after a year of Richie keeping it, plans to spend a day at the Quarry and try to get the rest of the Losers to tag along for once. He kept it on his desk to remind him. He forces himself out of bed and down the stairs. He needs to hear his voice. He needs to feel his arms around him. He needs to complain about the smell of cigarettes that he’ll get on his clothes. He needs to hear his awful jokes. He needs to see him alive again. The phone doesn’t ring more than once before Richie picks up.

“Richie.” Eddie sobs. It’s all he has to hear.

“I’m coming.” The dial tone brings relief this time, reminding him that he’ll be there soon. He’s alive and he’ll be there soon. Eddie grabs snacks from the cupboard and sneaks back to his room, doing all the usual things to try and keep this visit a secret. His limbs feel heavy with each movement he makes. It’s not long before the familiar tap rears its head and Richie is climbing through, getting his foot caught on the window sill as he tries. He lands on top of Eddie, who topples to the ground; they’re nose to nose, Richie barely holding himself up so he doesn’t put all his weight on him but he’s doing it for nothing. Eddie throws his arms around him and doesn’t let go; they slump over, onto their sides, and hold one another. _ Alive. _ His heart sings. _ Still alive. _Tears drip onto the skin of Richie’s shoulder and Eddie’s crying clatters through him. Something about this nightmare is different, a really bad kind of different.

“Richie.” Eddie sobs again. “Promise me you’ll never die.”

“I promise I’ll never die.” He says, not asking why or how this needs to be asked of him. He’ll defy death itself if it means Eddie will be happy. Another cry rattles through him, hands shaking despite holding Richie’s jacket so tightly. It smells like dirt and pine trees, like the nights he’ll spend wandering in hopes of finding exhaustion. “I promise I’ll never die.” He repeats. It brings some relief this time, just a little.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Eddie’s voice cracks, he buries his head into the crook of Richie’s neck and cries. His warm breath sends shivers down his spine. Something flutters in his chest, something flickers in Eddie’s. They stay like that until the crying stops, until Eddie knows that Richie’s still alive and here to stay.

“Okay.” Eddie nods, wiping the tears from his eyes. “Okay, I’m good.” Richie nods at him, helping him up so they can retreat to their new spot at the foot of the bed instead of on the floor next to it. They rip into the snacks, as if they haven’t eaten in days. Eddie doesn’t have an excuse besides growth spurts, finally getting close to Richie’s height despite his growing too. He doesn’t know about him though, maybe he really hasn’t eaten in days. He can never tell when he’s doing well or not, apart from when he doesn’t bother to mask the smell of alcohol from his breath some days — recently it’s gotten more frequent. Just last week he got a call from Bill, asking him if he could check on Richie at the arcade because he was worried he’d do something stupid after swinging by his house. Once he got there, Richie was sitting on the curb with, shirt covered in blood and face smeared with it too. He’d been a trashmouth with the wrong person. Eddie made sure he got home, watching him slip through the door without a word and getting a call full of apologies the next day. Regardless, Eddie lets him take every bag of chips for himself until his fingers are stained orange.

“So, are we talking about it or distracting from it today?” Richie tosses the last empty bag into the trash can, making himself comfortable while Eddie thinks. He lays down, legs hanging off the edge of the bed and eyes finding the no-longer-glow-in-the-dark stars.

“Talking about it.” He decides, pulling a blanket over his shoulders for the comfort it brings. He’s stopped bothering to make his bed when Richie’s here. “This one was different.”

“How so?”

“You died in it.” Eddie says. Richie’s constant, absent-minded fidgeting halts. “Usually I wake up after Bev stabs _It_ through the eye but this time you died. Like, if she didn’t get to do it in time.” He explains, watching the way dark curls spread across the mattress and the soft light shines off thick glasses. _ Richie looks breathtaking, _he thinks. Has he ever thought that before? Guilt starts to eat at him. He shouldn’t think that about his best friend. Not about any boy. Maybe this is why his mother thinks he’s sick. Is she right? Has she always been right?

“I can practically see the smoke coming out of your ears. What’s going on?” He puts a hand on Eddie’s thigh, who almost flinches at his touch.

“I guess I just wanted to say thank you.” _ Eddie, look at me! _ The dream keeps repeating in his head, clashing with the memory echoing in his bones. _ Eddie, look at me! _ He can see Richie’s confusion and concern. The ghost of his hands on his face, the way his voice sounded while he screamed at him. _ Eddie, look at me! _ “Do you remember, in Neibolt, when my arm was broken and we almost died?”

“I wish I didn’t.”

“_It_ was stalking toward us and everything looked fucked.” That’s an understatement. They were _ sure _ they were going to die. “But you grabbed me and kept yelling for me to look at you.” He can feel Richie’s hand slowly creep across his leg. He doesn’t show it. “You were terrified,” His hand stops, “and we were going to die.” Richie’s face contorts at the words. They’re so much closer compared to when the conversation started, neither seems to realize. “But you still stood next to me with your hands on my face, making sure I wouldn’t have to die looking at that goddamn clown.” Eddie doesn’t mention how the dreams typically go. He doesn’t mention how, most nights, it’s the echo of Richie’s voice pleading _ LOOK AT ME! _ and the warmth from his fingertips that he wakes up to. He doesn’t mention how, most nights, his nightmares end with himself dying, still staring into those eyes like sunlight shining through a bottle of aged whiskey. But, Richie seems to know; his lips curve into a sad smile and he runs a hand through his messy hair.

“I don’t really remember doing that.” He admits, “I just remember what was going through my head the whole time, I never thought twice.” They notice just how close they are. The weight of Richie’s hand burns into Eddie’s thigh. He, of course, makes a joke. “You should be so lucky to spend your last moments looking at my face, Kaspbrak.” Laughter fills the room, but it’s forced. They pretend that the moment has passed until a creak comes from across the hall and they shut up, racing to open the window for Richie to climb out. The sun is going to rise soon anyway. He climbs down the tree and grabs his bike, looking back at Eddie from the street and waving goodbye before riding home with the moonlight shining on his hair.

**Ⅲ**

Richie picks up the phone within an instant of hearing it ring and listens to the storm from Eddie’s end of the line right after he says hello. Barrages of insults, bunches of questions, and blazes of answers — Eddie’s had another fight with his mother and can’t steady the rage that thunders in his head. It’s been building up for weeks, each night out with the Losers is a battle to be able to go. She says he spends too much time with them, he says he doesn’t spend enough. Tonight is when the issue finally exploded; he doesn’t remember how or why, only that she insulted his friends and he couldn’t keep his mouth shut once she uttered Richie’s name. He doesn’t tell him that. It echoes across the insides of his skull. _ Filthy boy. _ The anger still roasts in him like a spitfire. _ He’s going to corrupt you. _ Without thinking, he almost told her that he’d let Richie corrupt him, that he wanted him to. He knew better than to let that response be said out loud. Now that it isn’t in the heat of the moment, the idea scares him. Why was it the first thing he thought of? He’s never thought of him _ like that _before.

“Does my darling Eddie need to be distracted with some jokes and some lovin’?” Richie asks, almost a given that he’s got a shit-eating grin on his face. Eddie rolls his eyes, but a smile of his own appears that makes his heart slow down and speed up all at once.

“Still not your darling, but yes I do.”

“Awe, not even a little?”

“In your dreams, Trashmouth.” Eddie smiles, a hand placed on his hip. He’s wouldn’t trade this for the world.

“Oh, I’ll tell you _ all _ about my dreams of you, Eds. This one time—” Then, Eddie makes the line go dead. It’s a race to shove towels under the door and mess around with his lights, doing the most he could to ensure his mother couldn’t hear Richie sneak in even if it isn’t much help. He’s there in minutes, tapping softly on the window pane until Eddie lets him inside. They find their way to the bed, sitting next to one another with their backs against the wall. 

“You hung up on me! My heart is broken, dear Eddie, grown cold and shriveled up from neglect!” Richie throws himself onto Eddie’s lap, the back of his hand over his forehead as if he’s fainted. “Here, here will I remain. With worms that are thy chamber-maids; O, here will I set up my everlasting rest—"

“Richie, shut up.” He interrupts, only to be ignored by a still monologuing Richie who seems to be even more intent on committing to the performance. Eddie swears there are tears forming in his eyes.

“And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars from this world-wearied flesh. Eyes, look your last! Arms, take your last embrace! and, lips, O you the doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss. A dateless bargain to engrossing death!” He grabs Eddie’s shirt, pulling him close and bringing their lips so close to touching, kissing his cheek instead. Eddie squirms as Richie’s voice becomes a whispering scream. There _ is _a tear rolling down his cheek. “Come, bitter conduct, come, unsavoury guide! Thou desperate pilot, now at once run on the dashing rocks thy sea-sick weary bark! Here's to my love!” He grabs his chest with the hand that was on his head, clutching at his heart. “O true apothecary! Thy drugs are quick. Thus, with a kiss, I die.” He tilts his head forward, as if intending to kiss him on the lips this time, and Eddie pushes him from his lap in a panic. He plops on the floor with a soft thud but stands up and smiles in an instant, waiting for the applause as he bows. He lifts his head up and frowns when he hears none, seeing Eddie’s exasperated yet impressed stare.

“What?” Richie asks, plopping back down into the spot he had before. “Too over dramatic for being hung up on?”

“Do you seriously know the monologue from Romeo’s death scene by heart?” He’s almost amazed, especially at the fact he seemed to cry on command. His heart is still racing from when he thought Richie was going to kiss him for real. He’s never done something like that, only switches to his cheek last second like he always does.

“Do you seriously recognize it without the blocking?” Richie beams, he’s been caught this time and he knows it. The last time they went to the Quarry all together, Eddie found a copy of a Romeo and Juliet script in Richie’s bag with all of Romeo’s lines highlighted. He tried to ask but Richie wouldn’t have it, dodging every suggestion that he’d make. He still doesn’t know if he ended up auditioning somewhere or not.

“Seemed like you knew the blocking well enough.” Eddie mumbles, feeling heat creep across his cheeks. He doesn’t ask about the playhouse or the highlighted script, he doesn’t want to push it. Not after seeing the look on his face when he tried to bring it up in front of the rest of the Losers. Without saying another word, Richie immediately dives into a joke that he promises he hasn’t told before.

“What’s the difference between a tire and 365 used condoms?” He grins from ear to ear, too excited to wait to be asked. “One’s a Goodyear and the other’s a _ great _ year!”

“Ugh.” Eddie sighs, pretending to hate it despite the flicker of a smile on his face.

“How’s sex like a game of Bridge?”

“Richie.” He warns, the smile still looming.

“If you have a great hand, you don’t need a partner!” Soft, short-lived laughter comes from them both. Their sides start to burn and cheeks start to ache. “Okay, what’s the difference between being hungry and being horny?” Richie grins again, “Where you put the—"

"Shut up, Rich!” Eddie squeals, an obnoxious and much louder laugh forcing past his lips. Richie throws his hand over his best friend’s mouth, muffling the sound of laughter to avoid catching his mother’s attention. They laugh all the same, trying to be quiet while falling into a heap against the mattress; they feel like little kids again, not the in-between adults that they’ve been forced to become. It’s like a memory from before It, no underlying sadness or fear with every movement they make. Once it dies down, Richie’s head is on Eddie’s chest and their limbs are tangled; they rearrange when they notice, something so awkward about the way they look at one another. It didn’t used to be like this. Neither can really tell where it came from, only that it gets worse over time, especially the past few months. They used to hold hands without even blinking, now haphazard glances can fill them with anxiety. Frustration burns within them both, but they won’t talk about it. Something inside tells them they shouldn’t. The same feeling tingles in Eddie’s chest and his eyes find Richie’s, who knows something’s wrong.

“You alright?”

“I don’t know.” He admits, staring at the wall in front of him and trying to dissolve the rambling in his head. He knows that he can talk to Richie about anything. “Can I ask you something about Neibolt?” At the very mention, Richie visibly pales. The thought still haunts them both. But, he nods all the same. “You never told anybody about what you saw in there. Before we were all together again, I mean.” 

“I guess I wasn’t ready to talk about it.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know.” His voice is deeper than Eddie remembers it being. “I’m afraid of being forgotten.” Maybe he’s not very observant, maybe it’s a recent change he hasn’t bothered to notice. “The missing kid poster was the start of it. Like a seed to plant the rest of the panic. After that, _It_ ended up luring me to a place away from Bill and into a room full of clowns.” He sounds desolate, seeing it all over again. “A casket with the word _ found _written in blood and a puppet of my body full of maggots inside. When I closed it, _It_ jumped out and went after me until Bill managed to open the door. Then I—” Richie stops, it’s now that he realizes that his hands are trembling. “Your head burst through a mattress and you were covered in dirt, you spit up this sludge that oozed across the floor. Then, you laughed and started shaking, like a seizure, and disappeared. It was the three doors next. Very Scary. Scary. Not Scary At All.” He finds himself reaching for Eddie’s hand, who lets him take it. Their hearts don’t have time to race, not when they’re talking about this. “We opened the Not Scary one and it was Betty Ripsom. The entire bottom half of her body was gone, like it was ripped off or something. Bill told me it wasn’t real and we found you right after we got through. I heard you screaming and I thought that—” He can’t finish. He can’t. He can’t say that he thought Eddie was dead. He can’t say that he ran so fast he thought he pulled every muscle in his legs. He can’t say that he almost lost his best friend, that it almost happened because he was too stupid to make sure he was behind them the whole time. Eddie knows.

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.” Eddie squeezes his hand for whatever comfort it may give him. “I shouldn’t have asked. I’m sorry, Richie.”

“No, I needed to get it out eventually. Nobody else likes to bring it up, they pretend nothing happened.” And look how that’s going. Stan hardly talks, Bill never stops looking over his shoulder, and Mike seldom comes into town. Beverly and Ben stopped talking to everyone after they moved — no visits or calls, from Portland or Nebraska.

“It’s hard for them.”

“I know.” Richie agrees. “It’s still hard for me too. Things are bad, you know? Not quite the same, but not better.” 

“Do you think things will ever be okay again?” Eddie’s voice is soft, almost afraid to ask. _ He’s crying, _ he realizes. When was the last time he saw Richie cry? In the sewers, when Bill found Georgie’s raincoat? The image disappears when he feels Richie’s head laying on his shoulder again. This time, neither of them move. He lets loose a heavy sigh.

“I sure fucking hope they will, Eds.”

“What if they don’t?” Eddie’s breathing is like an unstable boat in a storm. The words that force their way to his lips haunt him. They’ve been dancing in his head for months, maybe since Neibolt. He hasn’t dared to write them, let alone say them. But, he can tell Richie anything. “Sometimes, dying seems like a better option than being stuck here.” At the words, Richie’s mind goes completely still. Not even static threatens to play. He sits up, looking his best friend right in the eyes. _ I need you, _ he thinks. He tries to say it without screaming. _ I need you here. _

“No.” Richie says. _ I need you by my side. _ His voice is outrunning him. _ Please don’t leave. _ “Don’t you—” Something squeezes his throat shut. _ Don’t die. Not like that, not so young. _ The tears start to blur his vision and drip past his chin. “Don’t say that.” He grabs Eddie’s face as his gaze wanders, making him look at him. His eyes scream, his heart aches. _ I love you, _Richie thinks. If he thinks it loud enough, maybe Eddie will hear it.

“I wouldn’t. I mean...” Eddie sees the terror in his expression. He’s said too much. “Richie, I’d never do something like that. I just don’t like it here. I’m not going anywhere, remember?” The terror doesn’t go away. His hands falter, but he wipes the tears from Richie’s face and hugs him. They melt into one another. Months and months of hurt, letting loose at long last. They pull apart when their arms sting from squeezing so tight and there, with the smallest bit of sunlight illuminating Eddie’s tear-stained face, is the first time Richie thinks of what it’d be like to kiss him.

**Ⅳ**

The frustration boils over into tears, a pile of tissues with the aim of drying his eyes slowly grows into a mountain. Eddie left homecoming early, now he curses himself for ever going at all. He knew, deep down, that it was a stupid idea to let the rest of the Losers convince him to go. He also knew that it was really his own fault, he’s never had a problem saying no to his friends; it was the daydreaming that made him agree, the _ what if’s_. In his head, and in his wildest dreams, he would’ve had the courage to ask Richie to dance. He almost got a taste of it, finally leaving the outskirts of the room to find that neon green bowtie and wild hair, then saw his arms around some girl with a magenta dress. He wants to say it’s because of something else. Too many people in one place means too many germs, somebody could have spiked the punch bowl, the bathrooms are a pit stop for anyone with cigarettes and joints. But, he says those aloud and he’s lying to himself. If he can’t even believe himself, how could anybody else? Angry for caring so much and upset for getting his hopes so high up, the tears still roll down his cheeks and nothing he does stops them. The only person who can cheer him up when he’s like this is Richie...even though he’s the problem this time.

“Stupid fucking dance.” Eddie mutters, wiping his eyes with another tissue and throwing it to the pile expanding beside him. His limbs ache and burn, the hurt bubbles up in his chest to boil over. _ What was he thinking? _ As if he could ever live that daydream. He knows better, he knows that thoughts like that are a bad habit reserved for boring classes and trying to fall asleep. “You’re such a fucking idiot.” He sobs, repeating it over and over until the words blur together; they twist and contort until they’re nothing but sobs he chokes on, clamping his mouth shut to muffle the sound and shaking from the sadness. When the shaking subsides and self-directed insults cease, he pulls himself off his bed and starts an exhausting walk downstairs toward a shower that’s practically chanting his name. Each step is a battle with his own legs until he passes the phone — it rings. He picks it up in an instant, terror panging through him as his eyes flicker toward the steps. _ Did his mother hear? _There are no creaks or thumps. He puts the phone to his ear.

“Hey, Eds.” _ Richie. _His voice is jittering like fireflies in a jar. He knows he hates that nickname. “You left early.” Just like that, the terror’s back. What could he say? How could he try to lie to him like that?

“Uh, yeah…” Eddie whispers, still weary of any sound from upstairs. “I wasn’t having a lot of fun. Figured I’d hang out in my room instead.” His own voice is a flickering light bulb, ready to go out at any moment but somehow still hanging on. Richie doesn’t believe him, but he doesn’t say a word.

“Do you wanna hang out? I can ride my bike over, it’d only take a bit.” Cautious and worried, as if the offer will upset him. Eddie hesitates before saying anything. Could he seriously lie right to Richie’s face, especially when the lie is so shitty? Anxiety builds up in him and festers. Maybe he can get cheered up without being direct about why he needs to be. Maybe, if Richie sees right through him as always, he won’t say anything about it.

“Be there or be square, Tozier.” Eddie smiles sadly, hanging up and sneaking back up the stairs. He rolls up towels and stuffs them in front of the space at the bottom of the door, with the same small hopes that it could prevent a single noise from escaping as he has every other time Richie sneaks in. A single light glows from his desk, the rest of them shut off to give the illusion that he’s sleeping, plus Richie can’t see him cry if it’s dark. He shouldn’t care about that know, he’s seen him at his weakest, why would he all of the sudden think less of him? Before he has the time to think about it, he hears that familiar tapping on his window. When the window slides open, Richie climbs through and makes himself at home, about to sit on Eddie’s bed until he sees the pile of tissues still there. _ Shit. How could he forget to clean that up? _Richie pauses, glancing awkwardly at Eddie.

“I didn’t, uh...I didn’t interrupt anything did I?” A shit-eating grin blooms on his face as his hand makes a lewd gesture, suggesting that his best friend was jerking off when he picked up the phone. Eddie sighs, exasperation laced throughout, and shakes his head. Hopefully, Richie won’t notice the blush creeping up on him. The thought of that makes his skin crawl right now — it has for a couple months, the only thing that pops into his head is…

Richie notices.

“What’s with the Mount Everest of Kleenex then?”_ Fuck, _ Eddie curses at himself. _ Maybe he should’ve said yes. _

“Nothing.” His voice gives him away, brittle and small. Honey brown eyes burn holes through him from behind those thick glasses, only breaking away when Richie pushes the pile of tissues to the floor and sits on the edge of the bed. Eddie can feel his hands tremble, he should’ve known he couldn’t lie to him. He always sees right through him, nobody knows him better. Just this once he’d hoped he could get away with it.

“Did something happen at the dance? Is that why you left?”

“No.” Eddie says, a little too harsh and a little too fast. He turns away, trying desperately to prevent the tears from coming back. Flashes of Richie and the magenta dress twirling on the gym floor; a bright bowtie with his bright smile. He’d left the safety of the bleachers for him. _ What was he thinking? _ He was ready to ask, or at least try to. _ What was he thinking? _His eyes find their way to his best friend again, they falter on the loose bowtie still dangling from around his neck. “Wh—” Eddie takes a shaky breath. “I thought the dance ended hours ago.”

“Oh, yeah.” A sheepish smile grows across Richie’s face and he runs a hand through his hair. “I forgot to tell you.” There’s pink in his freckled cheeks. “I had my first kiss, Eddie. I met this girl at homecoming. We danced and hung out for a while.” He wants to say more but stops, looking at the change in Eddie’s expression. His heart is sinking into a cold, black sea. All he can notice is the mess of Richie’s curls and the hickey forming on porcelain skin just barely above the collar of his shirt. Thoughts of Richie in the back of his car parked in some empty lot, steamed up windows and the staticky radio blasting classic rock playlists that he spent hours making. Magenta dresses ruffled up past skinny knees, wandering hands, and breathy voices. The images flicker like fire in his bones, raging with heat and filling his lungs with smoke.

“Looks like you did way more than that.” He mutters. The smile disappears from Richie’s face, curving into a frown.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He sounds indignant, but Eddie just shakes his head, pacing around the room and saying nothing. Things are quiet. Things are tense. The conversation is like a powderkeg, the smallest comment can cause it to ignite. Richie watches him pace, anticipating the apology that always comes after the times he snaps. It doesn’t come. Instead, he keeps wearing through the carpet as if trying to find the right words. As much as he focuses, he can’t make out the words Eddie’s mumbling to himself. He grabs a notebook from his desk and fiddles with the metal spiral in it. Annoyance yanks at Richie’s muscles and he sighs,

“I thought you’d be excited for me...not jealous.” The powder keg ignites. Eddie whips his head around and the notebook comes hurtling toward Richie’s face, it just barely misses as he ducks and smacks against the wall. “Eddie, what the fuck are you—"

“I’M NOT JEALOUS!” He yells. He realizes his mistake the second he hears his mother stirring from her room. Despite the anger, despite the annoyance, Richie sees the fear in his best friend’s eyes and slips through the window. Eddie throws the towels away from the door, scrambles into bed, and shuts his eyes; lying deadly still in the hopes that she’ll think she imagined the noise. Panic radiates through him, humming and pulsing, until he hears her open the door.

“Eddie-bear?” She whispers, still careful not to wake him up. After that, it’s silence and creaking floor boards. He thinks she shuts off the light on his desk, maybe even locks the window, before she shuts the door behind her and goes back to bed. When he’s sure she’s asleep, he creeps to the window to find Richie’s bike gone. Tears prickle in his eyes and his hands find the jacket he wore to the dance. He grabs it as he slips down to the floor and sobs, clutching it to his chest as if it could replace the warmth his room was full of when Richie was still there.

**Ⅴ**

Snow dances down toward the earth and street lamps glow a warm gold; dread floods Eddie’s heart as quickly as the ground gets engulfed by white. Christmas break almost always means loneliness, where his mother’s strict policy on spending holidays without friends drives him wild enough to tear his hair out or develop cabin fever bad enough to become the woman from The Yellow Wallpaper. The Losers are the only ones who keep him sane lately. About a year and a half left of this shithole and then he can go anywhere. He doesn’t know where, per se, but somewhere far off and whimsical — where the constellations in the sky can outshine his starry eyes. He dreams of hoarding cash and getting a car, driving for miles until he’s some place the shadow of Derry cannot find. He dreams of hitchhiking and sleeping on park benches, finding a crappy job to hold him over at a bad motel until he has the means to rent out an apartment or a room from a house. His friends are the ones that keep him from just running away now; Richie especially, even if they’re still on weird terms. He always talks him down and promises, if things really do build up to the point where staying in Derry seems worse than dying, that they’ll pack up his car and drive away together. And, as much as Eddie yearns for that, he can never bring himself to tear Richie away from his life here. The thought of him and Richie on the road fills him with dread anyway, they still haven’t talked about homecoming. There are so many unresolved questions.

It’s not like Richie hasn’t pushed the subject and it’s not like Eddie hasn’t avoided it at every turn. At first it was almost daily, then less and less until he just gave up entirely. Eddie knows he still thinks about it though, he gets the same look on his face whenever he tells Eddie they can’t hang out because he’s got a date. That’s been happening a lot. Girls line up for Richie and he hasn’t got time for anybody else, even the other Losers have noticed. The girls never like them and they don’t like the girls — everyone else is quiet for Richie’s sake, Eddie is quiet because he’s afraid he won’t be forgiven if he has another outburst like that night. Jealousy is a monster he’s learned to live with; no matter how desperately it stings when it sinks its teeth into his skin, he cannot make it leave.

Even still, and against his better instincts, he has hope tonight. He wants to see Richie before the holidays officially start and he’s trapped in this house until school starts again. The instant his mother is asleep, he races to the phone and dials it. Each time is a weight added to his chest, Richie doesn’t answer until the fourth call. Maybe he’s finally gotten an early night’s sleep only to be woken up.

“Oh, hey, Eds. What’s up?” His voice is different; he’s distracted and out of breath._ Not sleeping, _ Eddie decides.

“Hey, Rich.” He mumbles, digging his nails into the skin of his palm. Maybe he shouldn’t have called. Maybe Richie doesn’t want to talk to him. “Do you wanna come over? We can eat junk an—"

“_Hurry up, babe._” A girl’s distant voice, annoyed and honeyed. _He’s with someone. _He doesn’t say another word, just slams down on the switchhook and watches his hands shake as he trudges back up the steps. He knows better. He _should _know better. Grief sings like a choir in his skin, the crying starts the moment the door is shut behind him. It almost burns the way his heart does. He collapses into bed and cries into his pillow, feeling the hot tears smearing against his skin; the warmth of his breath heating up his cheeks each time a sob escapes his throat. Fury and desolation war with one another in his head. Sad because now he knows he’s in love with Richie Tozier, angry because he knows he shouldn’t love him at all. He doesn’t know how long he cries until an abrupt tap at the window makes his gaze fly toward it; Richie is on the tree branch in only a t-shirt and sweatpants with a backpack on, shivering from the cold as snow falls into his hair. He opens the window, but doesn’t let him in. He doesn’t wipe the tears from his eyes and he doesn’t say hello.

“What are you doing here? Didn’t you have company?” Eddie’s voice is ice itself.

“Eddie.” Richie pleads, lips tinted blue. “Please, _ fuck_, it’s so cold. You can kick me right out on my ass if you’re still mad, just hear me out.” Eddie still doesn’t budge. “You know, I could get sick and—"

“Fine.” Eddie hisses, moving from the window and sitting in the chair from his desk. Richie discards the backpack and takes his bed, grabbing up in heaps of blankets and burying himself in them as if they’re his salvation. He gestures toward the bag and Eddie finds fast food — greasy burgers and curly fries that practically beg him to eat them. He doesn’t refuse the offer. They eat in silence and wait for Richie to warm up, the blue still caressing his lips. When the shivering stops and the food is gone, Richie sits up straight.

“I’ve been an asshole to you and I just want to make things right between us.” _ He hasn’t acted this serious in a while, _Eddie thinks. Should he be worried? “It wasn’t fair for me to just stop hanging out with you and the rest of the Losers just because I started dating around. I guess I was excited about it ‘cause everything’s so new but I still shouldn’t have done it.” Richie’s voice wavers like a kite in the wind, “Eds, I’m so sorry.”

“You know I hate it when you call me that.” Eddie mumbles, tears still in his eyes as a smile creeps up on him and giggles escape them both. The laughter is weight off of them, anchors finally untied and dropped. As it floods the room and warms their souls, Eddie starts crying again. He doesn’t mean to. It grabs hold of him so suddenly. The sound stops Richie mid-laugh, walking over and kneeling in front of him. A hand finds his thigh, the other finds his wrist. Both hearts skip beats. Both hearts falter.

“What’s wrong?” His voice tender. The crying just gets worse. Eddie shakes his head, shutting his eyes tight and wincing. “Hey,” Richie says, with all the softness in the world, “talk to me.” Finally, Eddie looks him in the eyes. Gray-blue meets brown.

“Things aren’t getting better.” He whispers, almost ashamed to say it. He doesn’t want to make Richie leave when things are finally going well for him. He doesn’t want to be selfish. Richie stands, holding his hand out for Eddie to take; the crescent scar from the blood oath is still there, looking almost as fresh as the day it was made. _ All of theirs do. _ Eddie hesitates before taking it, getting walked over to his bed where they both lay on their sides, face to face, in the dimly lit room. There’s anxiety winding up in his chest, like being this close will somehow make him find out how he feels about him. _ No, _ Eddie thinks to himself, _ you don’t feel anything. _ But, Richie’s thumb wipes away a tear and all the rejection dissipates. He feels everything.

“Close your eyes.” Richie whispers, a smile so soft but so sad. Eddie’s heart is close to bursting, pounding in his chest like a steam hammer, but he listens. His eyes shut as he feels Richie’s fingers graze his skin again. “What does your life look like?” Eddie makes a face, lips twisting to a frown and memories slithering beneath his skin.The Losers and their memories. His mother and her haunting presence. Neibolt and Pennywise, with claws still digging into his mind. Nights like these, where Richie is the only one who can slow his mind down.

“Bittersweet.” Eddie says.

“What if it wasn’t?”

“Richie, this is—"

“What would it look like if things were different?” Richie interrupts him, watching the sporadic rises and falls of his chest slowly turn steady. His hands are restless by his side, so close and so far from his friend’s. “Describe it to me.”

“I’m not stuck in the Lost and Found bin.” Eddie mutters. It’s the first thing to pop into his head. People rooted into fields where homes grow, blooming there forever. He’s always wanted that on some level. He’s made a family out of the Losers Club and he’d die for each and every one of them — he almost did — but he wishes that losers in this world were household names in another. He wishes for a world where they can be friends and live their lives without being outcasts for existing. “Not being afraid of anything. I’m not delicate and I’m—” Eddie pauses, taking a shaky breath, “I’m normal. Or at least I’d feel like I was, instead of standing at the edges of a room during a dance wishing I could be like everyone else for the night.” He stops, regret thrumming in his veins. He knows shouldn’t have said that. He opens his eyes to see Richie, freckles like stars and a heartbroken look in his eyes.

“It sounds like a nice life.” He says, fingers stilling aching to lace themselves between Eddie’s, who finally notices how close their hands are to touching. A sigh breaks free from him and he shuts his eyes once more; a small sense of relief washes over Richie.

“I think I’m tired, Rich.” He relaxes into the mattress and hums. “I’m so tired.” Richie understands, grabbing the blankets and pulling them over Eddie. Neither one says a word, just stays right where they are. As the snow still falls beyond the window and Eddie starts to sleep, Richie lays beside him and finally takes his hand.

**Ⅵ**

A tap at his window halts him mid-step. Richie’s already there before he can go downstairs to call, a smile flickering across his face when he sees Eddie’s grin. He opens the window and reaches out his hand for him to take, climbing inside and throwing his arms around his best friend once his feet are on the floor. Things are better between them. They’re just like how they used to be. Before growing up. Before _It_. Before high school, now that it’s almost over. Derry’s shadow is almost behind them. Eddie’s saving up for an apartment with Stan in the city, he just got accepted to New York State. Richie’s going to Emerson for Theatre and Performance, Eddie finally annoyed him about Romeo and Juliet enough to make him try out; turns out he has a talent for entertaining people, not surprising to anyone. All the Losers piled into the theater every show to watch, the death monologue moving them to tears every time. He’s happy he got into Emerson. But, the thought of being so far from him is worrying, Bev and Ben stopped talking to them after they left, but him and Richie are different. If he misses him too much, Richie promises to forgo on campus housing and get an apartment with him. Eddie would give up his Manhattan daydreams in a heartbeat for a life with him in it.

The two fall into the bed without sharing words, sprawled out and tangled up in blankets despite the warmth of spring air brought in through the still open window. Richie’s head lays in Eddie’s lap, where his hands run through his dark curls. There’s no anxiety or awkward instances between them anymore, they’ve made their peace with it. At least, they pretend they have. Secret pining and feelings of guilt still whisper to them during lulls in conversations. Neither dares to bring it up first, but it always lingers.

“I think things are lookin’ up for us all.” Richie says. He got a call hours ago, hearing Bill sound enthralled and ecstatic for the first time in weeks because he got an acceptance letter from University of Maine. Mike finished homeschooling early, working enough to afford the truck he’s always wanted and meeting a girl he’s found love with. Even Stan seems to be happier, with only two months until graduation left. The nightmares are still there, they never left and they might never leave; they’re used to dealing with them by now, a saving grace that it’s a less frequent occurrence. “We should rent out a fucking beach house for Prom or something, maybe drive all the way to the shore and spend a weekend there. A last hurrah type of thing.” Richie says. Eddie gets visibly uncomfortable at the mention of it. He hasn’t been to a single dance since that homecoming in their sophomore year. Richie hasn’t asked, but he feels like it’s his fault somehow.

“Who’re you taking?” Eddie asks, avoiding the idea that Richie wants him to go too. It makes him sit up and look right into his blue-gray eyes. He can’t ignore it this time, Richie won’t let him.

“What’s eating at you? I know it’s something. You’re on edge whenever one of us asks you to come with.” Richie frowns, suddenly aware that he’s been the only one to ask. Bill and Stan keep telling him not to push it, like they know something he doesn’t.

“It’s nothing.”

“I don’t believe you.” Richie says, his eyes start to burn into Eddie’s soul and back. “Is it about the lost and found thing?” He gets a shrug for an answer and pokes the hand closest to him. Eddie flinches slightly, moving his hand away. That awkward feeling rears its head, so familiar but from so long ago. It buzzes in Richie’s veins. “Come on, Eds. You can always talk to me.” He says, careful not to come on too strong like he usually does. “About anything.” He adds. Eddie glances at the small space between them, where the slightest tilt of head could close the gap. He stays deathly still.

“Do you ever feel like you’re losing your youth?” Eddie lifts himself off the bed and starts pacing, glancing out the window whenever he passes it as if time will speed by if he doesn’t. He can’t be that close to him right now. “Like...you’re missing out on things that you can only do right now and everything feels wasted? Every time you realize you’re not doing something, this annoying little voice reminds you that you’ll never be able to do it when you’re older. But the other voice — the louder one — reminds you that you can’t do it now.” Richie understands, but not about _ why _Eddie’s saying this.

“But, you could just ask a girl to dance at Prom, Eddie Spaghetti. You don’t need to not go if you don’t have a date. And you don’t _ need _a date.” He tries, but he can see Eddie get frustrated.

“That’s not what it’s about.” He snaps, a little too loud but not loud enough to wake his mother. Annoyance and guilt start to bubble in his chest. He wants to apologize, but he knows he’ll cry. _ Too late. _ His legs feel like gelatin. _ Too late. _ His shoulders slump down. _ Too late. _

“Then what is it about? I can help.” Richie shuts up when he sees the tears in Eddie’s eyes threatening to fall. The pacing stops and he stares out the window, watching the streetlamp flicker like his heart. _ Just say it, _he yells at himself.

“I know I’m not normal.”

“I never thought you were.” He snorts, almost forgetting that it’s a serious conversation. Eddie turns back to him and there are tears rolling down his cheeks. Richie stands, walking to Eddie and putting a hand on his shoulder. “What’s wrong?” The question makes him look back out the window. He can feel his fingers twitching. Is he really going to tell him? Is he really going to risk the hatred of his best friend? It’s not something he’s sure he could handle, but it starts to become unbearable not to say anything. If Richie really does stop talking to him in college, he’d hate himself for never telling him the truth.

“I have to tell you something.” He whispers. The words swarm in him like angry wasps. How does he say this? All the probable outcomes could hurt. “Do you remember homecoming? When I left early and never went to another one?” Richie nods, waiting for him to continue. This has been a long time coming. They still never talked this through. Fear latches onto Eddie’s soul. _ He can’t do it. _ What if he hates him? _ He won’t do it. _ Could he live through that? _ He has to do it. _

“Eds. You look like you’re gonna be sick.”

“I might be.” Forcing a laugh, he swallows his nerves as much as he can. “I was on the bleachers the entire time trying to work up the courage to ask someone to dance. I almost couldn’t do it. I was terrified that they’d hate me.” He can see the magenta dress. “I did it though. I started walking towards them and I was gonna ask. But, they were dancing with someone else.”

“Fuck. I’m sorry, Eddie.” His hand squeezes his shoulder. “Any girl would be lucky to have you. She doesn’t know what she’s missing.” Richie can’t tell, but Eddie’s heart starts to splinter. More tears come. _ Last chance to back out. _

“It wasn’t a girl that I wanted to ask.” Eddie’s voice is walking on broken glass. Scrapes and stabs into gentle skin. Richie just stares, confused for a moment, until realization sparks across his face and his arm falls back to his side. Eddie can’t breathe.

“Shit, man.” It’s all he can think to say until he sees the fear in his best friend’s eyes, then a smile tugs at the corners of his lips. _What if’s_ start to generate in his head, no matter how harshly he pushes them away. “Well, any guy would be lucky to have you too. Fuck that dumbass.” The moment he hears him say it, Eddie lets out a huge sigh of relief and hugs him, trying not to giggle. Richie’s fingers tangle themselves in his hair, feeling his heart beat harder in his chest the longer he holds him and the tighter he holds him. An idea pops into his head that has him walking toward the radio in seconds. He turns it on, low enough volume to keep his visit undetected, and flips the stations until he finds a song he wants. It ends up being a Bonnie Raitt song, I Can’t Make You Love Me. _ How ironic, _both of them say to themselves.

“Richie, what are you—"

“Shut it, Kaspbrak.” Richie hushes him, walking back over and grabs his hand. Eddie’s face turns bright red, but words won’t come out when he tries to open his mouth. “If you can’t dance at Prom, then you can dance here.” He wraps his arms around his waist and yanks him closer, until there’s no space left between them. Eddie slowly, cautiously mimics him. They just sway back and forth, rather awkwardly; feeling the heat burning in their faces when Eddie lays his head on Richie’s shoulder. They’ve both gotten so tall and yet, annoyingly, Richie still has a couple inches on him. His mind goes haywire when he feels Richie’s hand move from his waist to the nape of his neck. Safe and scared, conflicted but so powerful.

“You know, the guy I wanted to ask to dance was you.” Eddie says. He doesn’t know why. His heart is ready to explode the moment after the words leave his lips. His mind curses at him for each second without a response. He makes himself look up at him when the swaying stops. He can’t figure out the emotion laced throughout his expression. Bewilderment. Uneasiness. Something else he can’t place. He wants him to say something, even if it’s bad. Regret and dejection start to cloud him. He can’t tell how much time has passed. Seconds? Minutes? Hours? Then, Richie kisses him and fireworks set off in his chest. His hands travel on their own, settling on the hem of his shirt when Richie cups his face like he’d done in Neibolt. This time it’s different. This time it’s better.

“Eddie, do you—” He doesn’t get the chance to say it. Eddie kisses him again, pushing him back toward the edge of the bed. He stumbles while he tries to walk there. “Do you want thi—” He tries again. Eddie holds the bunches of his shirt tighter.

“Shut.” He kisses him. “The.” Again. “Fuck.” Again. “Up.” And again. Richie decides that he doesn’t mind being told to shut up like that. It isn’t until he trips, falling back onto the mattress and taking Eddie with him, that they finally pull away. They just look at each other, not sure what to do now and not sure what this means for them. Richie’s lips feel swollen and he can still taste the honey chapstick from Eddie’s. They only move so their legs don’t dangle off the edge, Richie lying with his head on the pillow and Eddie lying with his head on Richie’s chest. Arms wrapped around each other like they’ve done this a million times.

“You know I wasn’t totally honest with you when you asked.” Richie says, glancing down at Eddie curled up on his chest. It’s a sight he can get used to. “About one of my fears in Neibolt.” He whispers, the word not instilling as much fear when he’s got Eddie by his side like this. “It was losing you. That’s how _It_ got me away from Bill, pretending to be you.” He feels freer after saying it. A secret finally told.

“I guess I wasn’t totally honest with you either.” Eddie admits, relaxing into the curves of Richie’s frame. They fit together, almost like it’s meant to be. “In the non-bittersweet version of my life, I can fall in love with you and not be scared.” There’s no worry or fret when he says it. There’s nothing that can tear this feeling away from him. “I don’t think I’ll ever not be scared, but I’m not going to let it stop me.” He feels a smile creep up on him when Richie takes his hand and their fingers lace themselves together.

“I don’t think it’ll stop me either."


End file.
